


To Give and Hazard All He Hath

by SueG5123



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SueG5123/pseuds/SueG5123
Summary: In which Shylock claims his pound of flesh—or, how Newsroom 2.0 nearly finished before it commenced.
Relationships: Will McAvoy/MacKenzie McHale
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	To Give and Hazard All He Hath

“Mac.”

It was immediately following the broadcast, and Will leaned in Control. “My office, when you finish here.”

Nodding without assigning any undue importance to the request, she turned back to Jim and Herb.

“—And fix the chyron so that the abbreviations are consistent with the AP Stylebook. I don’t care what jabberwocky acronym DoD puts on the press release.”

Then, gathering a multitude of papers and the usual fistful of highlighters, she pushed through the door into the bullpen.

“Mac, I’ve got the Deputy Commissioner of the FCC lined up for Monday night,” Kendra said, falling into step alongside Mac as she traversed the room. “For the piece on net neutrality.”

“Okay. Put someone on researching Title 47 CFR. It governs the rulemaking process that the FCC operates under—we’re especially interested in the ‘notice and comment’ provisions.” Mac stopped. “Here, can you drop this on my desk,” she added, shifting the ponderous tower of paper from her arms to the other woman’s. “I need to stop by Will’s office for a moment.”

He was seated behind his desk when she entered.

“Date tonight?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage.

“What? Oh.” 

He realized she must be referring to the suit and why he was still wearing it, why he hadn’t yet changed following the end of the night’s show. There was a reason, of course: because he was about to be an officious prick, and he needed to hide behind the officiousness that the suit might lend him. 

“Nevermind about that. Mac—” he paused and exhaled heavily. “Er, uh—this was never going to work, you know. And while I’m grateful that you were here at the moment you were two weeks ago, we—”

Her head canted and her hands fell to her sides as his meaning dawned. “You’re firing me?”

“I, uh—the show is letting you go,” he amended, making plain the subtle distinction in his wording. This arrangement had been doomed from the start and he had only stuck to the trial two weeks because he felt obligated to in the wake of the Deepwater Horizon disaster. “It just isn’t going to work. Not for me—probably not for you, either.”

Flushing, she made a tight nod of comprehension. After the promise of the first few newscasts, she had assumed they had re-found their professional footing. That if all else failed, they could still have a collegial relationship and could share _News Night_.

Anxious to expel the awkwardness, Will rushed on in disjointed phrases. “Your people seem to be working out, so those that want to can stay—or if you want to take them with you, we’ll work around that.”

“We?”

_Had her replacement been hired?_

“Me. I mean, I’ll be interviewing some people for the EP job in the next couple of weeks.”

_Ah. So, there was no one waiting in the wings. Yet._

“And Charlie knows about this?”

Her words seemed too much like a direct challenge, so Will made his voice harder. “My contract gives me right of refusal on my executive producer and Charlie will go along with whomever I select.”

_So. Charlie didn’t know._

She nodded again. “I see.” She really didn’t.

“Look, Mac.” He slid his elbows forward on the desk. “Neither of us really believed this could work out—”

_I did._

“—So this can’t be a surprise to you. There’s just too much, you know, too much history between the two of us and you just can’t run a newsroom this way.”

“No. You can’t run a newsroom—” she repeated dully. Then, abruptly, “All right, Will. Message delivered. Do I have time to collect my things, or will someone be escorting me to the lobby?”

“Don’t make it like that, Mac,” he pushed back, mildly indignant. “This is an amicable but necessary parting of professional ways. No one’s gonna—”

“I’ll just need a few minutes. I can be gone before you’ve changed into your street clothes.”

Turning, she fled his office for her own.

The mountain of papers she’d handed off to Kendra sat in the center of her desk. There was nothing in the pile that warranted immediate excavation, so she decided to leave them for Jim or Don or whomever Will tasked with interim EP functions. Opening the center desk drawer, she grabbed her phone then methodically worked her way through two other drawers, grabbing at notes and thumb drives.

“C’mon, Mac. You don’t have to do this tonight.” Will was in the doorway, the glass door still closing silently behind him.

She aimed a spiral-bound notepad and fired. It bounced ineffectually off the arm he brought up to protect himself, but she took satisfaction at his flinch.

“Hey!” 

Wordlessly, she tossed a few more items into her bag.

He bent to retrieve the errant missile and adopted a pacifying tone. “Hey. This can work to your advantage. Charlie said you were exhausted by your time as an embed. Maybe you should take some time off, you know, take a cruise—rent a cabin in the woods—get yourself all pulled together.” When she didn’t respond, he prompted, “MacKenzie—”

“You know, I’ve just now realized that you only call me MacKenzie when you want to scold me for something.” She paused. “I’m moving as fast as I can on short notice, Will. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Don’t—I said you don’t have to—I mean, it isn’t like—” He gave full vent to his frustration and exhaled heavily. “We don’t have to make this uncivil.”

“No?”

He spread his hands. “All I’m saying is that we have a lot of baggage. Old baggage. These folks—” he gestured to the empty desks of the bullpen, “they don’t deserve to have to wade through all that every day in order to do their jobs.”

_I hadn’t noticed that any of them were wading through our failed relationship. Or were even aware of it._

But she said nothing and resumed thumbing through papers, selecting some and shoving them into her bag.

“Stop. Mac, just stop, for chrissake.”

She did, facing him blankly.

“I didn’t want this to be unpleasant—”

“You just fired me, Will.”

“But not because you did anything wrong.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked, exasperated. “It makes me feel worse to know that I didn’t do anything wrong. I thought I was here to do a job—that we, you and I, could be big enough to put the past aside for the sake of _News Night_.”

“Exactly. You did nothing wrong. I’m the one who isn’t handling this so well.”

“You think?” Glaring at him, she waited for more words, more explanation.

Suddenly, his throat locked up. “I can’t—it’s all me—but, anyway, you can’t be here.”

“Got it. There’s nothing I can ever do to make amends. No apology sincere enough, no punishment harsh enough, no—” Abruptly, she broke off. Then, in the half shadows of the office, she made a sound that might have been a bitter laugh before continuing, her phrasing now punctuated by frequent pauses. “I understand, Will. And, frankly, I never expected your forgiveness. I rather counted on the fact that you wouldn’t be able to forgive me.”

He frowned, trying to follow her logic.

“If you forgave me, I might be able to forgive myself. Get rid of this—this heartache I’ve been drowning in for three years, this shame that fills my mouth and my nostrils and my lungs until I think I’ll explode. I did something stupid. I hurt you and there just isn’t anyway to come back from that.” Her teeth latched onto her lower lip, betraying her insecurity. “I guess we’ll both live longer and be happier in separate worlds. You realized it first. Congratulations.”

Somehow, Will didn’t feel that he should be accepting praise for once more cleaving the two of them apart. “Mac—”

She held up her hand, stopping his words, then moved it to cover her own mouth briefly. Then, in a watery voice, she managed, “Two minutes. Just give me two minutes more to gather my things.”

He made a nod, one that she didn’t see because she had dropped her gaze back to sorting through the detritus of her desk.

Well.

That had gone— _perfectly_.

_Perfectly awful, that is_. 

He grimaced. Whatever satisfaction he’d imagined he would feel at cutting her loose—well, it was overshadowed by feeling like a callous, duplicitous, petty tyrant.

Which, of course, he was.

Still, MacKenzie was leaving and that had been the goal, wasn’t it? He had permitted her to stay for the two weeks because he had agreed to it in a moment of crisis—well, that and Keefer having walked out on him—but the time was up and he needed to reclaim his prerogatives.

This was his show. His newsroom. His fiefdom. How dare she think she could share it—insinuate herself back into his life—

Then he remembered the hurt in her eyes at tonight’s betrayal. More punishment, levied simply because he could.

He had come sooooo close to confessing the truth of the situation: that she couldn’t be here because it was excruciating for him, a clear daily reminder of everything he’d lost three years ago. Of course, he still loved her—indifference wouldn’t hurt this much—but loving her without telling her was intolerable. It was easier to sever the relationship again, and nurse his hurt rather than admit caring. Love might be tenacious, forbearing, and absolving, but it was also humbling, and there was no need for him to humble himself to her.

She had wounded him.

_She had to go_. Because if she didn’t, his resolve might fail.

His head jerked up when he saw the light in her office blink out.

“Goodnight, Mac,” the intern at the desk, a new one Will didn’t recognize, called out.

Mac was walking out of his life. _Again_. 

By his command. _Again_.

He looked down at the notepad in his hand, the one she’d flung at him in uncharacteristic pique. Her neat printing filled lines on the top page. Story ideas. Might be important for wherever she landed next. 

Deciding to give it to Harper or one of the others to return it to her, he fanned through the pages, his attention grabbed by a dog-eared sheet with big block letters

**But it can be**.

So. He hadn’t hallucinated her that night at Northwestern. Everything, down to her presence in the newsroom these last two weeks, had been orchestrated with the particular goal to insert her back into his life.

Oddly, he didn’t feel resentful at the realization.

She had been willing to risk her professional and personal dignity to give this a chance. To try to salvage the integrity of his career.

He had to stop this cycle.

Dashing to the elevator landing, he arrived in time to see the doors slide shut. He punched frantically at the call button, but the lift was beyond retrieval. In frustration, he resorted to his phone.

“Security? This is McAvoy on 23. There’s a woman coming down—stop her—yeah, hold her there—I’m coming right down.”

Providentially, another elevator door opened. Will bolted inside and pounded L for lobby. As he waited for the doors to close and the lift to start its descent, he felt suddenly strangled by his suit. He whipped off his tie and jacket, dropping them on the floor of the car, and he popped the top button of his collar for good measure. Better. 

After twenty interminable seconds, the elevator car reached its terminus and the door retracted.

The lobby of the AWM Tower, normally quiet at this hour, carried loud voices. As Will approached the security desk, he saw Mac’s bag spilled onto the center desk, contents under scrutiny by one of the building’s security officers. The other uniformed officer loomed intimidatingly over MacKenzie herself.

“Wait—what’s going on? Mac—”

Several voices spoke at once.

“You’re McAvoy? We held her like you said.”

“Don’t see any contraband here but—you want us to call the NYPD?”

“Is this the final humiliation, Will? Am I being accused of making off with a fucking stapler or—”

“No—thanks for—but she isn’t a criminal. I just needed to—” He stumbled over the reasoning for his gratitude to the officers, realizing it would only serve to confirm Mac’s worst assumptions. He turned his attention to her instead. 

“Look, Mac—I’m sorry about what happened just now—I didn’t want you to get away before I could—” 

She began shoveling her belongings back into her shoulder bag.

“Wait—Mac, wait.” He reached for her upper arm. “Give me a sec. You’ve got to hear—I mean, I have to tell you—”

Shrugging from his grasp, she countered, “Haven’t you told me enough tonight? Do you need an audience now, to make sure the message is truly received?”

“It’s been—it’s just been too hard for me having you here—and I wanted to say how sorry I am—”

“For firing me.”

“For everything. For sending you away the first time. For ignoring you for three years. For treating you like some office liability these last couple of weeks, when you were just trying to raise the bar. For thinking you were some crazy mirage at Northwestern last month—”

“You—how did you—” she said before faltering. “I didn’t think you saw me.”

“I thought I was having fucking visions that night, MacKenzie. I was ready to check myself in for psychiatric observation.” Conscious of the guards once more, he lowered his voice. “Anyway, it’s been so hard, having you back and wanting to tell you but not being brave enough to tell you—”

“What?” She was at the end of her patience.

“You’re my best friend. And I still love you.”

One of the eavesdropping guards made a low whistle. Will shot him a look of annoyance and tried to walk her a few steps away, toward greater privacy.

“You came back, and everything’s been Crazy Town in my head, but the craziest thing is that I’ve been wanting to tell you ever since you were standing in the office two weeks ago, and I couldn’t. And then tonight, an hour ago, in a fit of denial, I—"

“Say it again.”

“—And didn’t have the courage, the decency to tell you I was sorry—”

“Not that. The other.”

Pause, as he finally intuited her meaning. He visibly relaxed, even managed a hopeful smile. “I love you.”

“And I’m your best friend?”

“No one else.”

“Say, aren’t you going to kiss her or somethin’?” one of the guards prodded. “Jesus, I thought you TV stars would be smooth.”

Will shrugged sheepishly and Mac giggled, then bunched her hands in his shirtfront.

“Show me smooth, Mr. TV Star,” she teased.

He brought his lips to hers.


End file.
